A Day in Winter

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The winter sky is gray,

Its leaves of green melting into splotches of brown,

As the silver strings of a bird’s voice,

Learns to fly among the endless carries of the wind,

Which does nothing but bring lost sounds,

among the searching eyes of white.

Children laugh,

Their mouths wide open with a sound so endearing,

That it oozes in its saccharine sweat,

Which is enough to make the air’s ships,

Bury underneath its weight.

Yet, I wonder if these chimes of mirth,

Ever truly sit within these heartless bodies.

Or, do they become one within the tunnels,

Which resonates along with the pumps of living,

And eventually, reach the endless grey,

Only to be lost?

A group of men walk by,

Holding bottles of temporary escape,

As if they hadn’t broken their last means of living,

In the form of calming voice,

And a hand to shake.

Oh! What a sound their voices make,

As an old woman sat at the edge of her door,

Her ears glowing in a phosphorescent hue,

Listening to the silver strings,

Cry for something other than sorrow,

Along a never-ending path.

And as the grand star looked down,

Opening its ears with a father’s mistrust,

It wondered silently,

Without its words being caught in the air,

“Are these the voices I listen to?”

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Published December 25, 2020

Written by Farah Mourad ~ Edited by Fiona Xu ~ Graphics created by Justin Xu